


Under

by UTBS279



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Family Issues, Fighting illusions, Fighting other's battles, Gen, Internalized Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Redemtion, Loki Whump, Magic in the making, Nightmares, Post Avengers, Seidr, Temporary Character Death, Time Travel, entering the dream realm, loki feels pressured into doing what's right, much love and appreciation for a king, young loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-07 05:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14074200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UTBS279/pseuds/UTBS279
Summary: [Post Avengers]When Loki falls unexpectedly back to Midgard, the Avengers won't take his willing silence for an answer. But when things start to turn out for the worse, silence is the only thing they'll get. Thor has some explaining to do - if they only knew where he was.o-o-o"Are you implying that we're going to have to go inside that psychopath's mind to get him out of his self induced coma, or am I just imagining things?"o-o-o[On an indefinite hiatus]





	1. One Foot

**Author's Note:**

> umm, yes, another Loki falls back to earth story. but I swear, just because it starts like that doesn't mean it will end in a clichéd ending.

** Chapter One **

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;_

_I lift my lids and al is born again_

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

_The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,_

_And arbitrary blackness gallops in:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_

-From Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath

**o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o**

It's five in the afternoon on a Thursday, and it's raining. _It's Thor's day_ , Tony recalls slowly.

He sits in an partially destroyed empty kitchen, eyeing the crater of rubble in the middle of his living room. It's about the fourth time he's sighed when he allows his hand to reach for the half empty wine bottle that lays beside him.

He flicks the bottle's cap, once doing so, snapping back to attention before he gets lost in his thoughts. Tony lets his eyes drift around the room once gain, stopping to look past his windows and to the buildings. He sits there, numbly starting to remember. And soon, the unwanted silence that leaves him slowly spiraling back to the events of before is suddenly disturbed.

 _"Sir, I have been informed to tell you that Director Fury is on the line,"_ Jarvis says.

Tony blinks. His eyes dart back and forth as the last remaining pieces of intact furniture slowly dissolves from blobs of blur into details structures. He sighs and wipes away sweat that runs down his forehead. "Tell him I'm busy. I'm not here."

Jarvis doesn't back down, he's too used to this. _"I have also been informed you that this is of the utmost importance and cannot be put on hold."_ There is a beat of silence, and he adds with no remorse in his voice, " _It is unfortunate to say you have to answer. My apologies."_

Tony rolls his eyes. "All right, all right," he says tiredly, waving an arm. "Put him on." Turning slowly, he faces the white wall. The lights dim down a bit, and a projection of Fury pops up. He looks serious as always.

"You could've called," Tony says, testing the waters. "It would've been better if you called."

Fury's eye remains unblinking. "The line isn't secure enough," is his answer.

The silence that follows isn't the most comfortable, but Tony shrugs. He's not in the mood to make a smart remark, like pointing out that their line isn't secure and that Jarvis is perfect. As Tony sits there sipping away at his fine wine while Fury watches impassively as the drink slowly drains, Fury decides to break the news.

"There's been . . . activity," he says plainly.

Tony raises an eyebrow and lowers his drink carefully. "Is that so? Now, tell me what type of activity it is. Is it sporting activities? Sexual? No wait, lemme guess-"

"Now is not the time for games, Stark," Fury bites out a little bit too harshly. He composes himself again, his piercing eye narrowing. "We've gotten readings, and not the ones we'd never liked to see again. They're the same type of activity there was from the Tesseract. The same type when Thor came through the portal."

Tony recoils slightly, making a face at the memory. "And how is that related to me?" The answer is obvious, but Tony doesn't want to involve himself in something that can be avoided. "I got no buzz with the fuzz," he adds to lighten up the mood. It doesn't help at all.

"This whole thing is related to you, Stark. It began with your father ..." Fury's answers are as blunt as when he allows. "We need you here," he says.

"No thanks," Tony says nonchalantly. He stands up, rubbing the back of his knuckles. "Listen, I appreciate that you guys went to me, because I know I'm amazing—I'm Iron Man—but I'm not in the mood for saving the world again. I'm not in the mood for much lately."

His response is met with hardening silence, a piercing eye that hold no amusement and thinned lips that always seem to know when to strike.

"Not to mention, Pepper is probably going to kill me and go all Wicked Witch of the West if I wander off to your untrustworthy and secretive facility," Tony adds, because why not.

"Ms. Potts already knows," Fury counters, his lips forming and mouthing the words. "The rest of the team is being informed too, just in case."

Tony nods. "Yeah, okay. I think you got my message, um, no. My answer is no, I'm not going."

Fury scoffs, trying to hide a knowing smile. "Yes you are. After all, you were the one who signed up for this." He waves a dismissive hand. "Some agents will take you to the Helicarrier in about … five minutes. I suggest you clean yourself up and be presentable."

Tony opens his mouth to protest and ask if that was a threat, but Fury ends the call before he can begin to comment on his rude attitude.

 _"The call has been terminated, sir,"_ Jarvis says, sounding horribly smug and amused for an AI.

"I know," Tony says, blinking incoherently. He whirls his head to where the bottle sits, and he chugs the remaining bit of wine down in one go.

**o-o-o**

It wasn't like Tony had much of a choice anyways. The agents come with guns slung over their shoulders and serious masks over their faces. There are three of them—young, moldable and cold—that stride onto the empty floor from the platform.

"Mr. Stark, come with us," one says, his voice robotic and mean, very much like an agent of SHIELD His fingers are twitching by his side—no doubt itching to do something. Like shoot a gun.

Tony stands up and follows the men with the guns without uttering a single damn thing. And when he hesitantly boards the helicopter, Bruce is surprisingly sitting in one of the seats. He's wearing sweatpants and a comfy looking jacket. Tony looks down at what he's wearing; it's a suit that's wrinkled around the edges and blue, tight jeans. A defeated sigh comes from Tony.

"Hey, Bruce, nice to see you here," he starts. The tension melts from his shoulders as he sits down from across Bruce. "Did they coerce you too, or am I the only one who was threatened?"

"I came willingly," Bruce answers, an eyebrow raised at the question. "I had nothing else to do, and I practically volunteered."

"So you know the reasons?" Tony lowers his voice as he adjusts his seatbelt. "Something to do with something giving off bad vibes and mojo similar to the Tesseract readings?"

Bruce nods solemnly. "Yes. Unfortunately. Do you think it's Thor?"

"I hope it's Thor," Tony says. He rubs his palms together again. "I don't care if it's one of those Asgardians mooks or whatever, but it better not be another alien attack. I'm so done with those."

"Nat and Clint are on a mission," Bruce says after a while. His face pulls back into a frown as if he's worried about revealing too much. "Fury told me he informed them of what was happening, and that they'd be returning soon. Either later today, or tomorrow."

"I bet Natasha and Clint jumped at a chance to get back," Tony chuckles and leans back in his seat, "rather than going on a boring mission. Well, everything must seemed boring now, compared to what we had to deal, don't it?"

Bruce sighs. "Yep."

Tony ponders at another question. "So, what do you think it is Bruce? Another alien invasion or a new discovery? Horror or mystery? Disaster or glory?"

Bruce rubs the back of his head and grimaces in thought. "Every single damn time that thing has spiked, something bad has come of it. Back in Steve's day, it brought bad news and war, death ... Just recently it brought Loki and his invasion. More death. I honestly don't think it's good."

Tony's head bobs up and down, a hand rubbing his chin. "Well Bruce, nice touch to the already solemn mood. Very reassuring, thanks for shooting down my ideas."

Bruce just gives him a sly smile and a shrug.

The rest of the journey is followed by a calm silence, despite the conversation that had taken place. The only thing that can be heard is the soft humming of the engines, and occasionally the pilots murmuring under their breath. Cities pass below. Towns whip by, lakes and ponds fade into the distance, and then at one point they are over the ocean.

Tony checks; it's been at least an hour. Just as he's about to get up, complain and rant to Bruce, or stretch his body, a low voice crackles over the coms.

"Tony Stark, Bruce Banner," it says, "you have arrived at the Helicarrier."

Tony moves to look out the circular window in seconds. He sees the familiar, giant flying ship that holds many memories. And he smiles tiredly. Rubs his palms together like a mad scientist, looks to Bruce who stays silent and says, "Well, I guess this is the beginning of another story."

**o-o-o**

The Helicarrier is as neat as the last time they had left it. Gray, spacious and full of technology that run in pulses all over the ship. Other than the reparations still taking place from part and pieces of the wrecked turbines, the surrounding area on the inside seems like nothing happened. It's like they hadn't ever been attacked.

Fury receives them. Being a good host, he waits outside as the helicopter lands. His coat flies and twirls in the wind as Tony and Bruce walk out from its side. "Hello gentlemen," he all but yells, hands clasped behind his back, and his lips pull into a thin line. "Follow me, please."

With a small look Bruce and Tony shoot each other, they follow Fury as he leads them towards the control room of the ship. The roar coming from the blades of the helicopter eventually dies down.

The open corridors narrow into one simple hallway before opening up to the familiar control room. The large windows allow for soft sunlight to pour through. The clouds whip by and Fury begins. "Good to have you back again," he says as he turns around. "I almost thought you wouldn't come."

"Is he talking to me?" Tony asks sarcastically. He pats himself down. "Wait," he murmurs, suddenly distracted, "my phone."

"Yes, Tony," Bruce says as he nudges him, clearly not noticing the sarcasm. Fury chuckles a bit, before turning serious once again. His jaw sets firmly and he crosses his arms, as if now remembering something important. "Now that we've said our hellos, I'd like to personally introduce you two to Erik Selvig." He waves at them to follow. "He's in a similar room all of the Avengers were in before. Reparation are still taking place as we speak."

"Wasn't he also controlled with Loki's scepter?" Tony interjects quickly. He looks around the hallways, and his eyes scour the rooms that pass by. "Is it a wise choice to keep him at base?"

"Barton turned out okay, didn't he?" Fury raises an eyebrow. "A good blow to the head—cognitive recalibration—and he was back to being himself. Well, of course with the exception of a normal sleep schedule. The same thing happened to Selvig."

Bruce shrugs, and continues to walk ahead. "I think I remember," Tony recalls, turning a corner. "So how is he in health?"

"In the body, I'm doing alright. Still somewhat recuperating from the effects a concussion, if that's what you mean," a voice chimes in.

Bruce turns. "Hello Professor Selvig," he says, reaching out to shake his hand. "I hope all is better, or slowly becoming better."

"Oh, yes, everything is slowly getting there," his eyes are flying all over the place as he continues to shake Bruce's hand. "But please call me Erik."

"Hello, Erik," Tony says, also reaching to shake his hand—saving Bruce in the process. "This is quite a set up." Tony looks around at the equipment laying around, and the papers that are scattered. "How long have you been here, anyways?"

Fury, who has been watching the interaction, decides to take his leave before things start to escalate. "Well, gentlemen," he says, walking towards the exit. "I hope that you find the problem, properly diagnose it, find out what's causing it, and what the solution is. Have a nice day, hope to hear from you soon." Fury vacates the room swiftly, his coat swiping from behind him in a swirl. The glass door slides shut. And once all three are completely alone, Erik finally lets go of Tony's sore hand.

"I've been here ever since the attacks," he says looking around. "They kind of helped me, deciding to give me a job. I also happened to be there when the spikes were coming through."

"Thor took the Tesseract back to Asgard, but the scepter is still here right?" Tony grabs a chair with his good hand while Bruce hops onto a counter. "Loki's scepter seemed to give out this weird feeling when we here last. It like, influence our feelings ... "

"Oh yes, I remember the Scepter has power to influence," he chuckles softly, and it fades to a reminiscing frown, before continuing again abruptly. "But the Scepter isn't the one emitting the signals." Erik's hands are now making motions in the air, and he seems enraptured in his explanation. "Sure, it emits some short of energy but not one of the Tesseract. Not exactly."

"Different radiation levels? Peaks? What's the difference? Energies maybe, or the fluctuations around it?" Bruce grabs a StarkPad from a table and begins to skim through it. His fingers tap and skitter across the screen rapidly.

"What's the difference, Bruce? Pull up the files from the Tesseract, the Loki's scepter and these new waves." Tony hauls himself up, rubbing his hands. Not this he needs it much, but He fetches paper and pencils for the fun of it.

Bruce is quiet for a second, his fingers giving a huge pause. Selvig watches him in anticipation as his fingers once more start to move and appear to dance on the countertop. "Strange isn't it, Doctor Banner? Surely, you've never seen anything like this?"

"No..." He swipes his hand in a fluid motion, and almost immediately the clear screens mounted around the room are filled with loads of data. Information is pouring in rapid waves, and Tony looks at it all in awe, trying to grasp it all. "The difference… think there's a difference. Maybe expect for the levels of energies. Obviously the Tesseract have of the most, the scepter gave off second most, and these readings are giving off the least."

"Tony, look at that, do you see the levels?" Bruce says, looking up, adjusting his glasses in a nervous manner. "And is that what I think it is?"

"Ah, yes," Erik says as he goes to a particular screen that captures blimps of some sort. "These new readings are showing levels of an unidentified material."

"So what is it?" Tony asks, swiping away and organizing piece and chunks of information. "I can't find a classification to determine what the material is … what it's made of."

"It's technically not a material. These waves are similar to when Loki appeared," Erik admits. "It has that same fluctuations."

"So it's not a physical object like the Tesseract or scepter," Bruce confirms, his posture now straightening. "Right?"

"Yes. they're not physical objects I can hold in my hand. But, I mean this energy was physically coming from Loki," Erik explains. He grabs a pen and starts to draw something before giving up. "In ancient Norse mythology Loki is known for his magic and powerful sorcery he draws from Yggdrasil."

"I'm going to have to read up on Norse mythology, because I have no idea what you just said" Tony murmurs; to which Bruce who stands close enough to hear him, nods in agreement.

Waving a hand to dismiss the perplexed and curious looks, Erik continues, "Anyways, now that I'm having a closer look, I actually think that this force or material or whatever these readings are is actually his magic."

At the word 'magic' Tony shoots Bruce a dubious look, before returning his attention to Erik once again. He simply stares.

"Just think about it," says Erik, noticing Tony's unease. "He, no doubt, has to draw his energy from somewhere, right? But with the energies we're receiving now is similar to the energy radiating off of him—it's inside him."

"Okay," Tony says, tugging at his chin, "but at first, Fury told me these readings were similar to the Tesseract. What does magic—which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist—have to do with anything?"

"When Loki appeared, I later discovered, that the energy coming from off of him was at its low. These levels of whatever we're receiving now are almost exactly like what he was giving off. These waves are stronger."

Tony still doesn't understand, but he nods like he does. Bruce begins nodding too, because he apparently understands. "So these energy readings were originally found coming off of Loki …" Bruce summarizes. "So if that's happening, does that mean he's back?"

"Oh … no," Erik dismisses slowly, his hands gripping the edge of the table as he ponders the possibility. "That's simply impossible … Thor took him back to Asgard to be sentenced, right? With all the stories and research I've done, it's clear that he wouldn't be able to escape. Thor has also confirmed Loki won't be coming back, and he's the one who knows Loki the best."

Tony jumps in then, unable to stop his thoughts. "But it's still possible Erik; it's possible because Loki escaped from SHIELD's facility before. He played us, and no doubt he can play Thor too. Thor kept thinking, all throughout the invasion, that Loki could be saved."

Strings are being pulled. They start to attach and unwind, uncoil. Bruce narrows his eyebrows. "When Loki invaded New York City he was emitting similar energy levels that we're receiving now-which we learned were coming from inside him. And when Loki left to Asgard, the readings vanished with him. Erik adds, "Not to mention, since we didn't know much about the energies we played them off, because we thought they were coming from the Tesseract or something. But now the readings are back."

Bruce and Erik became silent then, their faces turning a pale shade of white; from shock and disbelief. Erik is starting to look sick. His hands are starting to tremble; poor guy. Tony understands, and he was thrown out a window stories up.

"Do you know what this means?" Tony whispers, the realization now striking him like a wave. "I'm not the only one who's come to the same conclusion, right?"

"It means Loki might come back," Bruce says, nodding glumly. "Or is back."

Erik slumps down, too many emotions on his face run course as he seems to crumble right in front of them. He lifts a shaky hand, and runs it through his thinning hair. "Damn," he whispers. "That's the truth I feared ... "

**o-o-o**

"What's your verdict, gentlemen?" Fury asks as he clasps his hands together. He has a smile on his face for some reason-Tony finds it creepy and he tries not to stare. "Good news, bad news?"

Tony-from his peripheral vision-sees Bruce brush a strand of his hair out of his face. Clearly, a nervous gesture. "Well," Bruce drawls out, "do you wanna hear the bad news?"

"Bad news first?" Fury asks, his smile slowly fading from his face.

"Bad news is first because there is no good news," Tony says bluntly. He stares down at the prognostics on his StarkPad and hums thoughtfully.

Erik sighs, a hand rubbing at his temple.

"With all the discovery and information we pulled from previous accounts," Bruce continues, shooting yet another scornful look at Tony, "it's safe to say that there's a possibility that Loki might come back."

Fury lets out a breath. "And this is a hundred percent?"

"More like a ninety nine point nine percent, but yes we're pretty sure it's Loki," Tony answers. "Oh, but that's if he's not back already."

"But how do you know it's Loki and not some other space alien," Fury asks. He looks unconvinced as always, especially with Tony. "Maybe it's even Thor."

"We've run the diagnostics. The the type and form of energy from appeared only when Loki was here, and thus is exactly the same, well except for the levels. The levels now are much higher."

Fury sighs like it's the end of the world, a long deep drawn out noise. "So what you're telling me," he begins, his hands unclasping, "is that when Lok appeared he brought some type of levels with him and yadda ya yad, but they were low then."

"And when Loki went back to Asgard with Thor, the readings disappeared," Erik adds, "which means that either Thor or Loki brough the levels. But when Thor came down to earth that one time, we didn't detect anything from him, so it has to be Loki."

Fury nods, a pensive look on his face as if he's tying the strings together. "And what you're telling me, is that somehow the levels we're getting now are higher than before, thus making it Loki."

"Maybe he's trying to retake over the world?" Tony says, his statement running off into a question as his shoulder raise. He makes a face and looks at Bruce and Erik who shrug a i-dunno-don't-look-at-me shrug.

"Thor would've said something," Fury says getting up from his seat, a look of dismay in his eyes. "At least he would have sent a message if Loki escape. Besides, you guys are too paranoid with what's happened in the past few months. No biggie, I understand. But we're upping our security either way. We're on high alert until this mass of energy clears up.

"Something's coming either way," Erik says solemnly. "Something's coming."


	2. Two Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha must consider all her options while evaluating what’s already there. It’s not an easy job.

**o-o-o**  
_When I was a child, I heard voices_  
_Some would sing and some would scream._  
_You’ll soon find you have few choices,_  
_I learned that the voices died with me._  
_When I was a child, I’d sit for hours,_  
_Staring into open flames._  
_Something in it had power,_  
_Could barely tear my eyes away._

  
\- _**Lyrics from Arsonist’s Lullabye by Hozier**_  
**o-o-o**

  
Natasha and Clint arrive the next day, as prophesied by Bruce.

A Quinjet departs from a snowy area in the mountains of Massachusetts around eleven in the morning. Their course is set to: an “unknown” location in the Atlantic ocean. But Natasha knows better. After all, Fury had been the one to call first. And that itself could only mean one thing.

Inside the Quinjet, Clint shifts around, trying to find a comfortable position for the journey. He crosses his arms over his chest, over and over again, before finally sighing. And the cycle restarts.

Natasha sits down and fastens her seat belt. Her countdown from 3,600 seconds begins as soon as the pilot informs her the jet has reached its maximum altitude.

By the time Clint manages to fall asleep, it’s been 1,800 seconds. His breaths are coming in steady and he hasn’t moved at all. Natasha just sits still and keeps counting.

When she hits zero, it’s been an hour since departure. She’s been staring at the gray lining of the Quinjet on the ceiling all this time. Occasionally her eyes will flutter to Clint, she’s expecting him to at least stir when the turbulence gets too rough. But he stays sleeping. That’s good.

She looks outside the window then, sees the infinite expanse of blues, blues, blues, and starts counting backwards from again.

Later on, when a distortion appears, a sliver of something in the sky, out in the distance, does she sit up straighter. This is familiar territory, as familiar as it gets because Fury called them in with a the title of “an important mission” that had not been discussed at all.

They land without turbulence, which is rather strange. It makes her uneasy. The silence might be a sign --whe whole journey has been silent.

Natasha waits for a moment when the doors slide open. She watches the light crawl it’s way up to Clint’s face. He wakes up when the light hits his eyes. They snap open, and just like that, he’s up.

Natasha stands up too and smooths her clothes even though they don’t need to be smoothed. Her movements are languid once she stretches her limbs. Yet, the soreness in her muscles increases from a dull ache to a throbbing pulse, thrumming steadily through her body.

It makes her feel alive, alert.

She removes herself from the cool shade of the jet and the heat she's met with blinds her like a stun grenade. Well, not exactly. But it's still an unpleasant feeling. The humidity sticks to her body like sweet honey.

Her eyes wander to Clint's direction then, and she wonders if he's suffering too. But he looks unaffected. No sweat accumulates on his brow or forehead and there's no frown of deep thought. He wears short sleeves and gray cargo pants, so that must be why.

Natasha walks ahead trying to ignore the sun that heats her hair. She concentrates on something else, her gaze memorizing, picking up every detail, familiarizing herself with everything again. Yet, she can't help but grimace a bit in discomfort when a drop of sweat rolls down her back.

The entrance to the main control room is about fifty five paces from where they are, and the sun just smiles like there's no tomorrow, burning its rays down onto their backs.

Natasha stands up straighter if that's even possible.

Clint seems distracted with something else. He doesn't talk, doesn’t even glance her way.

Forty paces.

Thirty paces.

Twenty—

“It’s hot,” Clint comments suddenly, inclining his head to catch her eye. He's the first one to speak ever since they departed. He probably notices Natasha's extra hard glare.

In the exact moment Natasha’s ready to answer, a drop of sweat decides to make its move. It runs down from her forehead to her chin before gravity takes hold of it and makes it fall. The plop is silent, but the stain is surely visible.

Clint doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he doesn’t care. Just keeps his eyes locked with hers.

“You think?” she asks finally.

Clint’s lips have pressed into a line and Natasha keeps eye contact. She knows he wants to say something.

It’s then when they make it to the door, and finally, Clint pulls on the handle. Cool air shoots past them, harsh and quick. It makes Natasha’s hair flutter a bit and it feels like wind dancing on her skin. It cools her down instantly.

She takes a deep breathe in.

“What do you think Fury is going to debrief us on?” Clint prompts when the door closes behind them. “Has he told you?”

The change in conversation is not subtle in fact, it’s a whole completely different subject from before. Natasha decides to continue anyways.

“I only know that it’s important,” she says. “Important enough that you and I and the others have been called from their ‘vacations’ to meet up.”

Clint scoffs bemusedly. “You know you didn’t answer my question, right?” he asks.

She nods. “Yep. But my answer may have been enough context to say that I don’t know what the debriefing is about, but I do know it’s important.”

A smirk rises on Clint’s face and Natasha knows she’s won this round.

**o-o-o**

  
When both of them arrive at the debriefing room, it’s silent. Fury sits at the head of the table, arms crossed and as immovable as a statue. He looks more tired than when she last saw him and that was barely three weeks ago. Natasha knows. She’s been trained to notice these types of things. He’s more serious, if that’s even possible.

That may turn into a problem later.

Clint and Natasha shoot a glance at each other as they pull their chairs but neither says anything. They wait for Fury to talk and the wait is treacherous. The silence creeps onto them like a predator to its prey, but they’ve gone through far more worse than this. It shouldn’t be a problem.

Both now seated comfortably, Fury finally pulls out a folder. It’s small and normal looking, filled with at least two inches of paper.

“This, Romanoff and Barton,” Fury begins, pushing the folder to them, “are the readings of something very important we received in only ten minutes.”

“It’s pretty thick,” Clint says, looking at it but not reaching to grab it. He doesn’t question what’s it about or why there’s been so much information gathered in only ten minutes. Natasha keeps her eyes wandering. She stays quiet, curiosity growing.

Fury blinks his one eye; it flickers down to the folder in front of him, then looks back up.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we put it up on one of the fancy screens, too?” Clint continues.

Fury lets out an amused scoff. “That would be more efficient,” he says, nodding. “But I wanted to show you that this is a lot of information, especially with ten minutes of the program running. Don’t you want to know what it is? What’s it about?”

Natasha perks up at his tone of voice. He’s stalling. But why?

Clint gives a small grin. “I don’t know, do I?”

There’s something off, definitely wrong about the situation. For some reason, there’s an uncomfortable weight creeping onto her chest as she ponders what the sudden unease might be. The two inch folder becomes a ticking time bomb. Natasha wants to reach for it, but her hands don’t move. She waits for the right moment instead.

Fury leans back in his chair. “Do you?”

There it is.

“Yes,” Natasha says, cutting in--not too quickly, but not too late. “Just spill the beans. We can take it. We’re all big boys and girls here.” She adds a touch of humour to settle her nerves.

It’s not as effective as she hopes to be..

Fury gives her one of his looks. The one that means serious business is about to go down and that it must stay secret. The one that usually means trouble. Something in his eye hardens and his head bobs. “Confidential information that you are not allowed to tell the rest of your team is not lying, even if they mention it and you don’t say anything” he would say.

Natasha’s eyes dart to Clint then, but he’s too distracted--giving her one of his looks--to notice the sudden tension. Can you believe this guy? the look says.

And that’s when the serious business gets started because Fury snatches the folder back swiftly. He flips through the folder like he hasn’t seen it before and stashes it somewhere underneath the table (an empty cubicle maybe?) He crosses his arms and leans forward, like he’s going to whisper.

“These readings and data we’ve received are similar to those when Loki invaded,” Fury says. His voice isn’t in the least bit soft. “The team has come to the unsettling conclusion that he might be coming back.”

The comment is so blunt Natasha wonders if she’s heard correctly. She opens her mouth to say something but Clint beats her to it. “You’re joking, right?” he says, but there’s absolutely no humor in his voice.

“Nope,” Fury says. “Yesterday morning at approximately 0500 hours, we started to receive weak signals and pinpoints of random energy. At first we thought it was Thor when we looked into it, or the Bifrost opening or something, but in fact, it turns out that is not the case.

“When we realized this, we had to call in some people. So we did. We had Selvig, Stark, and Banner review the information, and they came to the conclusion that it was in fact

Loki’s magic. They knew this because--”

“I don’t care how they found this crap out,” Clint says suddenly. His voice is monotone--face blank as always--but Natasha hears a sharpness to it. “Get to the point.”

Fury remains silent and doesn’t continue, he just stares at Clint and Clint stares right back.

Natasha decides to save the day, slowing wiggling herself into the tight space. “So what’s the reason we were called in for?” she asks nonchalantly. “It’s obvious we can’t do what Banner and Stark and Selvig do-- we can’t do the science stuff to benefit the team. So what are we here for?”

Fury doesn’t seem relieved. He taps the desk three times with his finger and Natasha thinks she should have tried better; both subjects are so similar and hit close to home. It’s too late now.

“We’ve decided to bring the team back together,” Fury states, pushing back his chair, now standing. He gives her one last glance before heading to the door. “And I need all of you together if some bad shit starts to go down. So I hope that everyone plays nice like before.

There's a pregnant pause and a small intake of breath as he continues. “Agent Barton, I also hope that you are doing well like you said you were. It would be a shame to hear that all the money, from therapy sessions you attended, went to waste. That slippery shrink wasn’t cheap.”

At that, Natasha can practically feel her disbelief. Her lips lose their stiffness at the incredulous statement, and her eyes immediately wander to Clint. Clint’s face is neutral, but she knows better.

That was one hell of a blow, for sure. Even she wouldn't stoop that low.

Fury leaves with the two inch thick folder underneath his arm and an attitude that reeks of annoyed and pissed before she gets the chance to ask where Steve is. Before she can easily insult him for insulting Clint.

Clint stays in his seat the whole time, shaking his head and muttering things underneath his breath. Natasha, however, finds herself gravitating to where Fury sat at. He’d been trying to tell her something, or trying to get her to do something. She doesn’t go directly to his seat, instead, she walks up to the window and stares outside.  
From the reflection she can still see Clint muttering. He’s distracted, and that’s when Natasha turns, quickly eyeing and searching for what she suspects there is. She spots a

cubicle almost immediately. Partially hidden inside the cubicle is a small but distinguishable object.

A flash drive.

Bingo.

She passes by the desk like a shadow and grabs at the flashdrive--her fingers dancing on the surface without so much as a rustle--pretending to head to Clint's direction, to which she does. She pulls a chair and slumps into it, facing him, staring at him.

"Clint," she says.

"Natasha," Clint says back. He doesn't move, just keeps staring ahead.

Natasha waits, combing her hand through her hair. Picking at her nails. Wondering what the flashdrive is about. Questioning what obstacles lay in front of her. She waits, waits and waits. Seconds pass, and it's too much time. She's wasting time.

Knowing what the whole ordeal is about, and knowing about Clint's reluctance about the subject, Natasha decides a new tactic. She opens her mouth, uttering a “Why not?”

There's no context, but she knows he knows what she's talking about.

Maybe her tone of voice will make him spill. It isn’t too loud or shape, just the right amount of interest. But Clint just gives her a disappointed look. He’s fallen for that trick too many times.

“I dont want to,” he says plainly, jaw stiff and his eyes now parallel to the ground.

That’s not an answer. He knows it.

Her hands have clenched into tight fists behind her back. For a split second she wants to launch at him, grab him by shoulders and shake him until the real answer to why not spills out. She realizes that it’s not logical thinking or behavior—he’s been through too much—so she uncoils her fists and swallows hard.

“You have to,” she reasons. “When have you ever backed out of a mission just because you didn’t want to do it? If you hadn’t wanted to since the beginning, then you wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be here.”

Clint opens his mouth, then shuts it. His silence means everything.

Natasha pats him on the back, a rough and sharp movement, yet all the same comforting. “It’s going to be okay,” she says. It’s a mistake saying it and she realizes it a little bit too late. Clint knows it too.

Natasha: 1, Clint: 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost gave up writing in Natasha's point of view at first because I just COULDN'T. BUT I SNAPPED YALL. Reviews are appreciated.


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